


The Cat Nips

by nanailliterate



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Humor, John is tripping, M/M, Paul is a lot of things, Some Drug Use, There is cursing, if that matters to you, lots of pussy jokes, you gotta look for the innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:50:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanailliterate/pseuds/nanailliterate
Summary: John and Paul get high, and the last thing John saw before he dozed off was Paul right next to him. He swears. So why is it when he wakes up, he wakes up alone. Well, that is until he sees a pair of brown eyes and a furry body looking up at him. "Bloody hell, Paul, what the fuck happened to you!?"





	

John felt himself abruptly return back to consciousness from his sleepy haze by a loud sound. Taking a few minutes to get himself sorted, he finally scraped up enough man power to open his eyes

The room was somewhat dim, as if out of the four light bulbs in the room, only one of them was working. He supposed that the  dark atmosphere was thanks to all the smoke that was surprisingly still in the room. It was nice, he would say, and quite relaxing. It was almost like he was sleeping on a cloud.

However, even cloud people need to be able to move their joints sometime. He stretched out from on his position on the floor and it was only then that he realized it wasn't that great of a stretch. Hard tile met his limbs and joints, hurting him in a way a bed would never do. So, he was on the floor. With a groan he pushed himself up into a sitting position, feeling his bones on his back crack again. He instantly did the same to his neck and knuckles, grimacing a little at each sound his joints made.

It felt like he was in that position for hours. He didn't know how long he's been asleep for but just judging how sore he was and the stale taste in his mouth, it's been a while. He smiled to himself. Seems like he's all better now.

Looking around Paul's still-smokey living room, he began to stand up. Feeling his back crack once again, he figured it was about time to look for his favorite bass player.

"Paulie," he called out lazily, his voice still gravelly. Usually it was never this bad. He's long gotten used to the sensation of a sore, smoked-out throat. "Strange." He hoped he wasn't coming down with a cold.

John sighed, it's obvious Paul wasn't there. He grumbled to himself and made his way to the living room door, "Thanks for leaving a lad, Paulie, now I gotta go search for your sorry a-"

"Meow."

John jumped up with fright, almost landing straight on his own ass. Luckily he caught himself, and his eyes darted around the room quickly before roaming down to the floor. Right at his feet sat a pretty looking cat. More than pretty, the cat looked beautiful with its soft grey hair and large eyes. It had a calm demeanor about it as if he hadn't a care in the world, but was observant, almost wise, all the same. It was obviously a cat taken care of, not being jittery or nervous at the sight of humans. That's when a terrible and thrilling thought entered into John's mind. Hesitantly, he asked one word to the newly arrived (or maybe there the whole time) kitty. "Paul?"

"Meow."

John stood there in shock.

Well... seems like Paul's gotten himself turned into a cat. The stuff they tried last night must have been something powerful to be able to pull this off.

John's next train of thought was to mull the situation over. Paul as a cat surely couldn't work the bass, now, could he? No. And what kind of girl would still want to drool over an animal? John tsked to himself. All those poor women, all those poor Paul fans, how could they go on now that their precious puppy-eyed musician was now a kitty cat? Well, John would have to be a good mate and take all those birds under his wing. Least he could do for Paul. For Paul, the women will just have to settle for him. He tsked again, what a burden.

John snapped himself out of his mind wanderings. With smirk he narrowed his eyes to the cat, "I knew it!" He sat on the floor and stared at the feline. "How'd you go and turn yourself into a cat, Paul?" He muttered to the animal, only receiving a few blinks in return. He  knew he should have taken up Morse code. Paul is here trying to communicate with him, and John doesn't even know what the bloody hell he's saying.

"You know, Macca, I've always known you're a bit of a pussy. I know I've called you it before, but one doesn't need to take it to heart." He lifted his hand and began to pet Paul behind the ear. "Do you understand- do you even fathom how many pussy jokes I can make right now?" He asked his cat friend. He stilled his hand and waited for an answer. With a small hiss, his hand was softly bitten. John frowned, chalking up that cold reaction to both Paul just answering his question and because he had stopped being pet. He quickly resumed his petting. "Needy fool."

Paul was back to being happy again. With his eyes closed, he started purring contently, leaning his head into the palm of John's hand. The human of the two smiled softly. He'd always been a sucker for cats. He can't bloody well help that, with Paul as a cat, he happens to be the most adorable thing John has seen since Julian said 'dada' for the first time. Not that he would ever tell Paul that, of course, human or animal.

"You know, you kind of look like your human self," John mused. "You still got those big eyes. Hair's still soft and dark. Still quite daft. And you're still a pain in me ass when you're wanting attention." He thought of that not-so-adorable bite Paul had given him when he paused his hand.

Almost as if giving him a response, Paul meowed at John again. He took his hand away and Paul walked forward, putting his front paws on John's leg. "Meow."

"You hungry or something?" John quirked an eyebrow in question. Again, as a reply Paul just meowed and got off John's lap.

This is mad, John thought, even as a cat, he was still so in tune with Paul's wants and emotions.

He began walking towards the door again, this time only stopping when he noticed a pile of clothes on the floor. One white button up, dark pair of slacks, pair of socks, and definitely what appeared to be Paul's undergarments.

Smiling devilishly, John turned to look at little pussy Paul. "Naughty boy, walking around with all your bits out. How does that feel?"

"Meow. Meow." Paul supplied helpfully.

"Liberating? Hear you on that." He scratched under Paul's chin briefly before standing back up and heading his way to the kitchen. He smiled to himself when he noticed the little  pitter patter of feet behind him. It was a little cute, to say the least.

When he made his way into the kitchen he froze on the spot. What could he give a human that was transformed into a cat? Did he still enjoy human food or did he prefer cat food? He knew cats well enough to know that they could be downright cruel if their food wasn't to their liking. Granted, John would piss off Paul any of the day of the week just for kicks, but he really didn't want to be bitten again.

'Might as well make it right the first time,' he thought to himself. He dwelt on his predicament for a few seconds before a solution bestowed itself upon his head. "I'll make a combination of both!"

With that thought, he quickly started to gather ingredients from around the kitchen and placed them on the kitchen island. He found a can of cat food inside Paul's cabinet. They had often fed strays with the food, more so it would be John's idea, but Paul never protested since he was an animal lover himself. Anyway, it came in handy for Paul now, didn't it? Along with that, he had a layout of vegetables he knew Paul liked.

"You know, you should be thankful I'm putting this much effort into your food. I don't even make food for myself, and you're just a little 'puddy cat'!"

He opened the can of soft cat food first and was immediately let known of Paul's approval. He could feel Paul rubbing against his leg; hell, he could hear Paul's outrageously loud purring from where he was on the floor all the way to where he stood, easily. That didn't last too long though because soon instead of just watching his food get made, Paul decided to jump up onto the counter. Usually John would kick the animal off of the counter, but seeing as it  was Paul and it  was  indeed Paul's kitchen after all, he allowed him to stay.

"Meow."

"Just a second, Paulie." He mumbled. He moved towards the stove and oven, preparing to bake and cook the vegetables a little bit before he fed them to Paul. He thought he should feel a little foolish for doing this for a cat, but it was Paul, after all. He would do lots of things for the lad, him being a cat doesn't change that. Besides, the little  princess would probably throw a fit if John didn't do a great job anyway. He then moved back to the counter where Paul was staring at him intensely and began trying to find a cutting knife. Once he did, he grinned and turned towards Paul, "Meal coming right up!"

Once the preparations were done, he started dicing the baked carrots and the steamed asparagus and broccoli. The food smelled pretty good to his own nose and he resisted the rather strong urge to scoop some up into his own mouth. Instead, he mixed the perfectly good human food into the cat food.

Paul moved quickly, John noticed. As soon as John removed his hands from the cat food, Paul pounced. "Hey! Bugger off, Paul, fuck!" John somewhat yelled, purely out of frustration. He  loathed this about cats. They were relentless. One sniff at food and they were like savages. Paul was no better, evidently - the little barbarian.

John quickly grabbed the food and set it on top of the refrigerator where Paul could not get to it. Well, he probably could climb it, but John would be able to stop him before he got that far.

He then opened the refrigerator and the freezer along with it. He scanned the contents of Paul's fridge and found fish, but quickly scanned over that. Contrary to popular belief, he's heard far too many stories of cats becoming ill when fed fish that wasn't cooked all the way through, carefully and  entirely. Now, Paul wouldn't absolutely die of heartbreak and disappointment if he didn't get fed fish, and John wasn't really in the mood to fry it up anyway, so he moved on to the already cooked meats. He found some ham and bologna. Well, that worked.

After he had finished tearing up the meats into little pieces, he spread it all into Paul's gourmet cat food and stirred it all up with a spoon.

John sighed. The food looked great but, fuck, lots of effort went into that. Paul better be appreciative.

"Listen here," John began, setting the finished product in front of the cat, "you better finish this all. Made with love, that was."

Turns out John's warning wasn't even needed. Before he had even finished, Paul was scarfing the food down as if he hadn't eaten in ages. John watched on with wondering eyes. "Your absolutely disgusting, Paul," he commented fondly, running his hand along Paul's back once before letting him eat in peace. Maybe it was out of kindness, maybe he didn't want to get his face cut off.

Once Paul was done with his meal, he stretched and made his way to John, moving at a pace that could rival that to the speed of a snail. "Take your time, darlin'," If John didn't think Paul was a  little tender before, he sure did now. "Prissy little thing." He rolled his eyes.

It was worth it, in the end, John mused. Paul leaned down and rubbed his head against John's hand affectionately. He's purring the loudest John's ever heard. At least his efforts didn't go unnoticed.

With a smile, John carefully lifted Paul off the counter and carried him back into the living room. The cat nuzzled his neck and even went so far as giving his hand a lick with a grainy, sandpaper-like tongue. John felt his heart swell all the same. Being a sucker for cats as it was, he was happy that  this cat in particular has taken so well to him. John knew that if Paul was still human and he had cooked him up something to eat, he would never have been this appreciative or displayed such affection.

The, more calm than he should be, guitarist entered the living room and went over to the couch, settling down and keeping Paul on his lap.

"Not that I don't absolutely love all this," he started, "but when do you think you'll become a human again?"

The cat blinked up at John, then put his paws onto his chest. The eyes, they were staring again. John sighed and reached up his hand and continued for the second time of petting Paul, just to get him to stop the bloody staring.

"Honestly, Paul, this whole staring and whining thing is getting a bit old. You're just as bad as ever, aren't you?" Paul rested his head on John's chest, body visually relaxing and purring contently. "Though I do like how you're forced to listen to me this way. Bit refreshing, really. Normally couldn't get you to shut your gob, you little nuisance." John looked down at Paul and smiled at the adorable sight before him. "Course, I never was much put off by a nuisance, mind you."

John waited to hear if Paul was going to respond in any way, but he seemed to just be content lying on him, soaking up all the attention he was receiving. "Why're ya always looking for a way to be touched, you sod? I swear it, your the same now as before. Just a little bit furrier. It's alright, 'guess. But honestly, Paul, how do you expect to play the bass with your little kitten paws?" To prove his point, John touched said-paws in question. Although the cat gave out a small noise of protest and moved the paws out of John's grasp, he didn't move otherwise. "Alright, alright. Sorry for disturbing you. Anyway, like I was saying, I don't know what you're game is here, but I'm finding it to be quite the show. It's a good laugh, but I'd like you back to normal soon." Then John stilled his hand in a quick realization. "Unless this is you normally and your human body is the guise. What if you're really a cat and the Paul we all know and love is the fake." His voice escalated in volume and he stopped petting Paul. Paul's reply was one that John really needed to hear to quiet his raging nerves.

"Meow."

John relaxed back into the couch, "Ah! You're right. That's ridiculous."

Feeling quite foolish for his outburst, he removed Paul from his chest and placed him on the couch. He heard the loud meow's of displeasure, but chose to ignore them. Instead, he walked over to where the piano was and sat himself down onto the stool. He didn't particularly feel the need to play, as no inspiration sprang itself onto him at this moment, but he did feel like he needed something to do. He started playing a few easy notes with his right hand, humming along with it. The humming didn't go with the music, but it didn't bother him much. It was just something to do.

Before John knew it, Paul had come to pester him again. He jumped onto the lid of the piano, close to the music rack.

"Meow," John ignored him and continued playing. "Meow, meow. Meow."

"You're not doing too well with the singing bit." John remarked, looking at Paul with a look of grand disapproval. Paul, in turn, stepped down on the keys and walked a few steps, erupting loud notes from the keys with every step, before settling down with a large thump, pressing down on many keys at once. Once the last notes died down, John nodded his head. "Not so bad," he laughed, "You might have more talent on the piano now than you did when you had all your fingers and toes!"

John grinned and quickly looked around for a shoe, which he found by the back leg of the piano. Reaching around and under, he finally grabbed it and took out the shoelace. Holding it up in front of Paul's face, he watched as his cat-eyes grew humorously larger.

"Ready, kitty?" John whispered, "Go!" And before he knew it, Paul was off chasing the string John was dangling above the keyboard. He snickered to himself as he continued to make Paul chase the string back and forth on the piano keys, going from the highest note to the lowest note and all over again. Paul was unbothered by the cacophonous sounds from the piano, his only focus on the string, running quickly for it. John was surprised Paul didn't get sick, at this point. Poor thing was just going in circles.

Unfortunately, the game ended a handful of minutes later when John accidentally let go of the shoelace and it fell limp right in front of the furry animal. Paul hit it a few times with his paw, testing the thing out to see if it would start to move again. Obviously, it had not. John picked it back up again and tried to resume the game, but Paul was too wise.

"Come on, Paul, you were doing so great!" John whined, "Get the sting, Macca!"

Paul looked on with mild interest and hopped onto John's legs, making himself comfortable once again. John dropped the string and looked down at the one that seemed to always want to be in his lap.

"Christ, you're a needy one." John groaned, but he didn't really mind. Paul was always one to like praise, approval, attention, or just plain body contact. He would rather eat his own shoe than admit that, though. He grew up with only his dad and his brother, so his upbringing didn't allow for much physical contact. Guess it had affected him a bit since he often didn't know what to do when he got some physical contact when it came from anyone besides his girlfriends or the female fans that often mauled them.

John, on the other hand,  loved touching. He would admit it openly, but he didn't feel the need to. It was fairly obvious that he wasn't embarrassed or ashamed of it. There was a time in his younger years that he tried to act like a proper teddy boy and react with distaste when he was touched, but that quickly died out. He liked touching too much and gave up the facade easily. Besides, he found it much too funny when people would get unnerved by his lack of personal space. It was much better than acting as if the feeling of another human being bothered him.

Regardless though, eventually he began getting bored of just being Paul's handyman for caresses. He tried to keep his hand moving for seven solid minutes, which is about six and a half more than John would have liked, before he gave up.

Once again emitting a sound of displeasure, Paul was lifted up and sat on the floor.

For a moment, John was completely lost.

Should he go home? Should he take Paul with him? Paul was completely dependent on humans now, in every way, shape, and form. John didn't think that Jane would be all too willing to take in a stray cat that happened to be her boyfriend and take care of it by herself with no support nor benefits at all. John snorted, he could always just kick the fiery red-head to the curb and keep Paul all to himself. The thought immediately brought a smile to John's lips.

But then again Cynthia would probably throw a fit. If John told her the truth, then she would think he's crazy. If John told her he found the cat, she would put her foot down and not allow Julian near the 'bug-infested' feline. Julian loved Paul and he was sure he'd still love Paul even if he was an animal. John couldn't possibly keep them separated, he couldn't do that to him. Besides, Julian was in his curious stage, crawling around everywhere and trying to see what's what. There was no way, even with both of his parents supervision, that the baby and the cat could be isolated from each other for long. If he had to choose between simply making Cynthia happy or protecting and making sure Paul was safe in his home, though, he would obviously have to choose making sure Paul was safe (and making sure he himself was safe, which meant buying his sure-to-be angry wife flowers for at least a month). He didn't even want to think of the reason why he was so sure that he would pick Paul in every situation.

John heaved a hefty sigh again.

Sandwich. He needed a sandwich.

John shrugged off the impending dilemma that was looming overhead and made his way back into the kitchen. Evidence of his previous cooking endeavor lay thrown across the counters but he didn't give that a second glance. He made his way towards the refrigerator and was completely comfortable with using the last of Paul's bread and the rest of the turkey. It's not like Paul was going to need it anyway. With a forlorn sigh, he tossed the packets and condiments necessary for a sandwich on the counter and began making his food. He didn't get very far, and that would be thanks to the insistent grey cat rubbing up against his leg.

"Paul, leave a man be for a couple minutes," John frowned, staring down at the cat. Paul seemed to totally ignore John and rubbed  even more consistently when John tried to move his legs away. Paul quickly bit his ankle. "Stop Paul!"

Paul paid no heed. "Meow, meow," he started his round again, and it didn't stop there. Somehow, John had managed to piss Paul off threefold with his irrelevant and unamused attitude towards him. He continued trying to bite at his toes. Even when John hopped and moved out of the way, he would chase his foot and do the same thing. John was trying his hardest not to step on the feline but it took quite the concentration and agility to dodge the 'forsaken' cat. Unfortunately, John didn't have either traits so he looked quite stupid jumping around to avoid the adorable beast. He even considered if he  should step on him or not - just to give him a warning about biting and pissing him off.

Luckily for Paul, John managed to avoid the cat and so he remained un-stepped on. Although that task was taken care of, it turned out that hopping to avoid cats while simultaneously making sandwiches wasn't the best idea. As if there wasn't enough slop on the counters, remains of John's cooking laid thrown across the counter as well as the mess from Paul's meal.

Oh well, John shrugged, it was Paul's fault anyway. The little wanker. Serves him right.

Taking his sandwich in hand, he began to head back into the living room. This time instead of heading towards the couch, he chose to lean against the wall by the door. He knew that Paul would immediately try to claim his throne (which John was now calling his lap) as soon as the auburn man sat down. That was the last thing he wanted since it'd be possible that Paul's fur would get on his sandwich; or worse, Paul could even steal a couple bites of his meal. Like John was going to let that happen.

With Paul still meowing to his hearts content, John thought it polite to respond to his whims of getting his attention. In between bites of his sandwich, of course. But a little conversation between man and cat couldn't hurt.

"Paul, do you suppose that you'll be a regular cat this way? Or do you think you'll be just as pansy as you were as a human?" The question was meant for Paul, but John knew he wasn't going to get an answer, so he continued his thoughts out loud. "I would like to think that if you'd be living with me after today, that you could at least offer some cat-like assistance. Chasing mice, for example. Or chasing Julian! That would give me some laughs." He chuckled to himself.

"Course Julian would still love you to pieces," a small sigh escaped his lips, "He always did love you around. Much better than he liked me around, I'm sure. Wonder why that is. Could be because you play games with him, good games. My games are lazy, I feel. And I don't mind the kid talk but I just can't wait for the day we can actually have real conversations, you know? Having a baby is great, love him to death, but I can't wait for him to pick up a guitar, mouth off to me some, and understand my little innuendos. That'll be the day. We'll piss off his mum quite a lot." John got lost in his own thoughts, grinning to himself.

Of course, a meow took him away from his fantasy and brought him back to the real world.

"Right, but for now, I'll just have to put up with you as the favorite. Why is that? What makes you everybody's favorite?" By that time, he was already done with his food and bent down to finally pay Paul some physical attention, "What makes you so lovable, eh?  I certainly bloody well can't tell." He laughed and rolled his eyes.

The only sounds that could be heard were Paul's loud and somewhat obnoxious sounds of pleasure at being pet.

"So, do you want me to keep stroking you, pussy cat?" John teased, though the only reaction he got was a few blinks in return. He will admit that teasing and annoying Paul was much more fun when he was human. At least that way Paul can voice out how idiotic he could act and, if he really pissed off Paul enough, the younger man would often swat at him to leave him alone. John smiled at his bassist's tendencies.

Not bothering to think about how he should probably be returning home, he decided to let Paul do what he wanted.

Apparently, for a good while, all Paul wanted was his attention. Finally, though, and without much patience on John's part, Paul finally seemed to lose a bit of interest in him and his (getting lazier by the minute) petting. With what sounded like a bored huff, Paul sauntered out of the room with a kind of dainty and superior air to him. John was a good eye roll away to letting Paul wander about alone, but alas, his childlike curiosity got the best of him. He heaved himself up from the carpet and followed the cat from a distance.

When Paul walked to the set of couches in the family room and began rubbing himself against the slightly scratchy fabric, John was just about to lose interest and turn away to find something else to do (somehow the idea of his once human friend turning into a cat, not so new and fascinating anymore) when suddenly Paul sat up and began clawing the leg of the couch. John gawked and frowned with anger. "Hey stop that, fucking cat!" John hissed as the cat jumped in fright, only momentarily forgetting that the cat he was yelling at was also the owner of the couches in the first place. He was about to open his mouth for more lecturing, but quickly snapped it shut. Again, he was faced with a dilemma. Should he let Paul do what he wanted, since it was his right to do so? Was he thinking about the consequences in his cat state of mind? If Paul ever did return to human, would he blame John for not monitoring him in his animal-state and letting him do exactly this?

Then he had an epiphany: he didn't really care all that much. Sometimes it amused John to no end how much he could forget that he liked- no,  loved pissing Paul off. Silly John, he snickered to himself.

"Sorry Paulie, continue, if it suits you." He did a half bow type of thing to the cat, hoping that the translation of his apology went through and that Paul would catch on. Or, at the very least, not decide to maul John's eyes out for scaring him like that. Thankfully Paul seemed to understand that all was forgiven and he wouldn't be punished. Paul's work resumed as if John never said anything in the first place.

"Hm, what makes that so great? So satisfying?" John asked aloud, keeping an eye on Paul. "Me old cat used to tear Mimi's furniture to bits just like that. Why? What the fuck is so great about it?"

To answer his own question, John brought his finger over to one of the gashes that Paul had already made and torn it open even more with a quiet  _chhhh _ sound following every broken thread and unraveled stitch. John hummed and tore the fabric a little more. He found the sound to be quite pleasant to his ears. Maybe that's why cats enjoyed doing this so much! That's a definite possibility, or at least to John it was. "Okay, I understand the appeal now." He nodded his head to the cat.

Paul seemed to be a bit confused that John was actually participating in his antics but didn't let that deter him from his work. Instead, he lined multiple scratch marks and tears side to side across the back of the couch all the way to right hand side of the front. Then Paul jumped up and began digging his nails into the cushions. He didn't make the lines like before, but just seemed to poke holes and stretch his claws into the plush. By the time Paul was done (and John was done making the cuts even deeper), the couch was basically ruined. There was no way it could be repaired to look like it did before.

John shrugged to himself, a masterpiece is a masterpiece. And Paul sure did know how to make one hell of a masterpiece out of ordinary, and in John's opinion, bland furniture.

John laughed at how unrecognizable the couch looked and howled even more when he saw that Paul was rolling around and getting his fur all over it. Paul was truly a treasure in his cat form. Certainly, he understood the purpose of decor better in this state than in his human one. His laughs died down when he noticed that Paul had curled himself up and closed his eyes.

"You got the right idea, McCartney." He murmured, picking up Paul much to the cats distaste at being disturbed. "Quit your fussing, I'm only taking you to your bed. I could use a kip too." Really, John felt like he was about to fall dead on the spot. He didn't notice how tired he was until he had noticed Paul let out a yawn, which he had to reciprocate. He guessed that such bizarre events can really tire a good lad out. Who would've knew?

He was about halfway up the stairs leading to Paul's bedroom when he noticed that Paul was already sleeping in his arms. John couldn't decide if he wanted to smile, roll his eyes, or frown. Sure, it was cute, but if Paul wasn't able to keep up with John anymore now that he was sporting fur and claws, then that would really put a damper on John's escapades.

"Bed time for Paul and I, Paul and I are heading to bed." He sang quietly to himself, not without a funny voice mixed in. "Bed time isn't any fun without a man and his cat, a man and his cat can't have no fun in bed." Well, that was true at least.

He unceremoniously plopped Paul onto the foot of the bed, earning an unsatisfied sound from the offended. John didn't mind and set himself on the task of making himself comfortable. He removed his jeans but kept his t-shirt on and flopped himself onto Paul's soft and entirely too big for a cat, bed. He immediately covered himself with the sheets and blankets, noticing how chilly it was inside the house, and slipped his eyes shut. It wouldn't be hard falling asleep at this rate.

Of course, on another level entirely, apparently falling asleep proved itself to be a very hard task when sleeping with Paul.

Not ten seconds after John let his eyes close did Paul decide he wanted to cuddle with the man. Normally John wouldn't mind, both because he's always somewhat enjoyed when Paul would curl up next to him when they shared a bed and because he never minded when cats would do the same thing to him when he was sleeping. However, the way cat-Paul liked to cuddle when he slept was something else entirely. Not only was merely being next to John not good enough, but laying on his stomach wasn't sufficient either. No, Paul quite forcefully insisted that the one place he needed to be in life was on top of John's head. John told himself that if it wasn't for the fact that he was about to pass out, he would have kicked Paul off with a good shove and a curse after him. However, he'd be lying if he said that Paul's behavior didn't amuse him or that he didn't like the way Paul's fur kept his head warm. Either way, Paul remained where he was, and no matter how loud his purring was or how much his nails flexing in his hair bothered John, he wouldn't dare move him.

When the brown haired man finally got himself in a comfortable position, he let his eyes shut again and his mind drift off into somewhere far away.

The last thing he remembered thinking is that he does love cat Paul, but he wondered how long he can go on without having the real Paul. His Paul.

\---

The first thing John heard was a loud gasp that threw him out of his slumber.

He yawned, sat up, stretched, and opened one tired eye at a time. Suddenly, a gasp was making its way through his own mouth. "Paul!"

Before Paul knew what to do or say, John hurled himself at the younger man and brought him into a bone crashing hug. Not knowing what else to do, Paul let his arms encircle John's shoulders loosely and tried to concentrate on something that wasn't the current pain he was feeling on his ribs being caused by John's arms. "Hello?"

"Mate, I thought you'd be a cat forever!"

"What?"

"A cat, you know, meow meow?"

"I know what a bloody cat is, but what are you talking about, you thought I'd be a cat forever? And why are you in my bed?"

John nodded his head in all seriousness, ignoring Paul's last question, and laid a hand on Paul's shoulder, "Look, I guess you don't remember but you turned into a cat! For a good sum of hours too."

Paul rolled his eyes and turned on his heels to begin walking downstairs. "Very funny."

He could hear the sound of John pulling on his pants behind him and then the sound of the older man following him. "Swear it on my life, you were a cat!"

"I was no such thing."

"Really? Then how can you explain that when I woke up in your living room, I was alone, save for a cat. A very Paulish cat." John argued, his voice rising steadily with every word.

"Easily! I have to babysit my friend's cat while he's away on his honeymoon and you're an idiot. I had him inside the laundry room but I guess he escaped when I went to go get a towel so I could take a shower this morning. Fuck, Johnny, is this what you normally do when you're alone but have had too much? That's no way to spend time, I'm afraid."

John stopped for a moment in confusion. "What? No, it was you that had too much, I felt fine when I woke up!"

"John you were still high as a kite when you woke up, that's why. I barely had any, as I had to take care of  you all night. You don't know how to monitor or pace yourself with the good stuff, I swear. Honestly, John, you shouldn't let yourself get all confused by-" Abruptly, Paul stopped dead in his tracks when he walked into the family room to find the couch scratched and ruined. Gaping, his eyes then traveled across the room to the connected kitchen, eyes assessing the damage that was spewed all over the counters. It was like an explosion had taken place in his own kitchen. "I leave for five bloody minutes to go get some more cat food and you manage to destroy my house!?"

"Really, Paul, quit overreacting. We were in three rooms, at most. And you did most of the damage yourself, you swine." He sneered without much fire.

"I was never a fucking cat!" Paul yelled, mind still reeling from looking upon all the damage to his home.

"Yeah, I'm still confused about how it wasn't you that I spent all morning with. I woke up and-"

"John, you know I went to go take a shower! That's why you were alone. In fact I think I shook you and  told you I was going. I even slammed the door on my way out!" Paul folded his arms in his characteristic stance of annoyance, "I should've known that you didn't hear me, too out of yourself."

"Okay.. But you were gone for much longer than 'five bloody minutes to get some cat food'." John mimicked in what Paul assumed was supposed to be his own words.

Paul rubbed the space between his tired eyes, not believing he could be having this conversation. "Oh John, I was in the house almost the entire time! If you would've just checked my bedroom, you'd find that I was just getting ready to go to the shops. I left when you started making those God awful noises on my piano, giving me a bloody headache in my own  bloody house." Paul gritted, becoming quickly more irritated the more he had to explain himself when he had done nothing wrong.

"But all your clothes were on the floor! You were sitting right next to them!"

Paul sighed, exasperated, "Jane doesn't like smelling what we do in there. I shed them so that I didn't carry the smoke with me around the house on the clothes."

"So you just walked around nude?"

"Fuck sakes, John, it's _my_ fucking house! And besides, I got a towel before I walked out. That's when the bloody cat escaped the laundry room and when you decided to take it upon yourself to make up crazy stories and destroy my home!"

John opened and closed his mouth. "B ut- but, Paul, you and I had a connection!"

"Congrats, you and the damn cat have a connection."  Paul rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. "Honestly John, how could you believe that I had been turned into a cat!?"

John sighed and thought about the cat he had come to know quite well over the course of a few hours and reminisced on his behavior: the indignation, the insistent meowing, the dainty walking as if he was better than the Queen herself, the demand for attention. Yes, it was all very Paul. "You know, not as hard as you'd imagine."

"Whatever, you're just lucky that Jane had a full day planned with her friends, otherwise if she was the one who found you, she'd give you a good whack."

"Oh will the ole' Janie give Johnny a good spanking?" He asked in a funny yet snarky voice, rolling his eyes. "The only good whack I'd be receiving is on me ass, which is what she could also be kissing, while she's at it.

Paul raised an eyebrow, "Feeling a little frisky, aren't ya? Don't make me give you a pat or two to calm you down."

"Those be fighting words," John nodded his head, then shrugged his shoulders. "I just miss my cat friend. Where is he now?"

"Back where he belongs while he's here, in the laundry room." Paul chided, once again riled up from his mentioning of the cat, "I still can't believe you let all this happen! You know Jane's gonna kill me. I'm not pulling you on this, she's really going to kill me."

Paul continued on his rant about how John couldn't be trusted in Paul's house alone and how reckless he was ( _blah, blah, blah_ ) but the older lad couldn't bring himself to care much anymore. He wasn't lying, he really did miss his cat-friend-Paul. It was quite the bonding experience for John, what with what appeared to be all of Paul's affection and him having to supply most of the conversation. It was hard to believe that Paul wasn't actually there with him for any of it. He sighed and dropped himself on the couch, Paul following but opting to stand instead of sit since apparently he still had a lot more to say- or more like yell, at John.

John decided it didn't much matter anyway. All this yelling and hollering wasn't going to make John feel any better. In his mind, he lost some of what could have been great memories between the two. He would have had a kick explaining the situation to George and Ringo, that's something he could be certain on.

Without another word, John yanked Paul by the arm, sending Paul tumbling down to fall onto the couch next to John. Evidently that was his plan all along, since as soon as Paul's butt touched the cushion John tugged him some more and held him close, like cat-Paul and him used to do.

Now seemed like hardly the time to cuddle. Paul spluttered and wiggled, but John's grip didn't let up. The younger boy took a breath and tried to sneak a peak up at his (insane) friend, but didn't get much progress. Paul was stiff for a few seconds longer, but then noticed John's fingers carding themselves in his hair, combing the strands and massaging his scalp. He guessed that maybe John went through a bit more than just hang out with an animal all day, and he didn't really care to understand it any more than that. Instead, he closed his eyes and smiled a little, melting somewhat from the wonderful feeling John's fingers brought him, pressing his face into John's neck, tickling his throat with every exhale.

What Paul really did was sigh contently deep in his throat. What John heard was a purr. Either way, a smile soon etched itself onto John's face.

Although the fingers in his hair did feel good, Paul's thoughts were soon brought back to John's accusations. John must have been so out of it, Paul sighed, to not even realize how preposterous he had been acting.

John woke up so high he couldn't judge time or rationality, started talking to a cat, destroyed his kitchen (technically twice, but what Paul doesn't know...), made loud noises on his grand piano that will probably earn him rude looks from the neighbors the next time he saw them, torn scratch marks into his furniture, and passed out on his bed with a cat that wasn't even allowed on furniture because it shed so damn much. They were never (and Paul really means  _never_ ) going to try that drug again. It was lucky that Paul only had a fraction of what John had. Imagine if they were _both_ that far gone. That was something Paul didn't want to find out; the whole house could have been destroyed.

But then John pressed his cheek against the top of Paul's head. And Paul could feel John smile against him. And really, Paul liked where he was, practically squished into John's side. Paul ended up smiling. Yeah, okay, there was a bit of a mess in his house, but it sure did seem worth it.

As Paul finally let himself close his eyes and just enjoy the time he spent with John, he heard something that made his eyes shoot open with surprise.

"Meow."

Paul felt claws on his belly and had a mouthful of fur, the cat trying to take the space Paul occupied in John's neck. Apparently, also dead set on separating the two boys enjoying their moment. John laughed loudly with excitement and joy that his friend had somehow escaped the prison that was the laundry room, tugging the feline onto his lap and stroking his fur. Paul, though, could only think one thing:

Stupid cat.

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two.


End file.
